


touch with their silvery tones (every feeling heart)

by dashieundomiel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Kind of a songfic, M/M, Pining, Valentines Day 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashieundomiel/pseuds/dashieundomiel
Summary: Back home in Marseille, Enjolras and Combeferre struggle with unspoken desires. Music speaks where words fail.





	touch with their silvery tones (every feeling heart)

Dusty sunlight streamed through the parlor windows and brightened the dark room as Combeferre entered, Enjolras trailing behind. Other than the summer birdsong outside, only sound of their footsteps disrupted the perfect silence of the house. Combeferre shuffled through the bookshelf, all too aware of the awkwardness of the unusual silence. Having arrived early from Paris, he and Enjolras were alone in the house while Combeferre’s family was still in Toulouse to see his sister. He has thought to show Enjolras a book he had loved as a child, but with increasing dismay realized that it had likely been a good decade since he last read it.

“I’m certain it’s around here somewhere,” Combeferre said, pulling several books off the shelf to check, without success. “Hm. Maybe not.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. Whenever I return here I expect it to be just as it was when I was young. Very silly of me, isn’t it?”

“I quite understand,” Enjolras said kindly. “No matter. We can do something else.” He lay his hand on Combeferre’s shoulder, whose heart fluttered, unbidden.

Combeferre mentally shook away the feeling. “I’m afraid there’s not much to occupy our time here.”

“That’s a handsome instrument,” Enjolras said, nodding to a piano in the center of the room. “Do you play?”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Glad for a subject change, Combeferre walked over and seated himself at the piano bench. Blowing a layer of dust off, he raised the cover and played an arpeggio up the keys. “I do. I’d forgotten how much I loved the piano. My sisters and I would play duets when we were young. When we were lucky our father would accompany us on his violin, or our mother would sing. We were very happy then!” He paused, troubled. “I don’t think my father has taken out his violin in years. Too busy now, perhaps.”

“Such is life.”

“Indeed.” A pause. “Did you ever study music?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Not the piano, but I did learn the violin from one of my tutors.”

The thought of a young, still serious Enjolras playing the violin was impossibly endearing. “And you thought it frivolous and pointless, I’m sure.” Combeferre prodded with a gently teasing smile.

“No,” Enjolras said pensively, tilting his head. “I enjoyed it very much at the time.”

“I don’t suppose you’d agree to play with me a bit?” Combeferre asked. He reached down to a box besides the piano and removed a violin, offering it to Enjolras.

Enjolras wavered. “I haven’t played in years. Besides, my skills are hardly worth mentioning.”

“I’d take it as a great personal favor,” Combeferre coaxed.

Enjolras sighed and accepted the instrument. “Go easy on me.”  
Combeferre flipped through a few pages of music and indicated one to Enjolras that he figured would be simple enough for both of them. Enjolras nodded and drew the bow across the strings to tune with surprising deftness.

When he was satisfied, Combeferre lightly struck the introduction. Enjolras joined, gazing intently at the music. The melody glided across the strings with ease, and had a sensitivity that surprised and touched Combeferre. As he knew, and (he thought to himself) perhaps chose subconsciously, it was a melancholy piece about a man persuading his lover to join him. The violin called, and the piano answered sweetly, demurring. The conversation of their parts echoed through the empty house, vibrating deep into the walls, waking the ghosts that had lain whispering beneath the surface.

Combeferre glanced up at Enjolras, playing passionately, eyes nearly closed. It could not have been clearer if they were speaking. The music swelled to an agitated pace, My darling, listen to me, it implored, until it slowed again to a bittersweet end. They stood in silence as the last note reverberated throughout the empty house.

Enjolras looked momentarily stunned. He lay the violin onto the piano as if he’d been burned, Combeferre noted, and his heart ached for him.

“Will you not play again?” Combeferre asked, though he knew the answer.

“I don’t think I will. I’m sorry,” Enjolras said softly.

Their eyes met, and Combeferre understood.

**Author's Note:**

> i failed two quizzes because i spent three hours listening to violin sonatas instead of studying. the song i chose for this is schubert’s serenade, if you care to listen to it


End file.
